The Big Bad Wolf
by wolfluvermh
Summary: When the TARDIS longs for Rose and brings the Doctor and Clara back to her parallel universe, where the Doctor learns that his copy was killed by the Vashta Nerada. Knowing the peril he could place the alternate world in, the Doctor tries to leave, but quickly discovers that Rose's world is plagued by strange wolflike creatures with a taste for blood.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first DW fanfiction, although I have some experience in the field. Please review and enjoy!**

* * *

**The Big, Bad Wolf**

I remember those times, so many years ago, when my bones were young and my muscles were nimble. Now I hulk about, ratty grey hair falling into my eyes, so utterly alone.

He'd promised me forever, the Doctor. Or his copy. Whichever. But forever is not something the Doctor does; at least, not forever standing still. I still remember the day my angel died, reduced to a simple pile of bones. Such a mortal way to meet Fate. I guess he just didn't have enough left in him to regenerate.

I don't do much nowadays. Sitting around in this dull room, staring at pictures, smiling when people speak to me. I wish they'd just leave me alone. I like being alone. It's quiet, and nice. Thoughts can keep you company as easily as a physical person, if you think hard enough. And I've had so much time to think. So very, very much time.

Reflecting on my brief and relatively unhappy life doesn't get me anywhere, but it passes the time easily. Thinking about the Doctor, my Doctor, and not the copy he gave me. Thinking about the life I left behind. Thinking about all the London lights and the sweet, sweet smell of pollution. Thinking of all the places the Doctor had taken me, and all of the places he never will.

Thinking most of all the time my Doctor came back for me.

* * *

"Oi!" I bark at a passing stranger. Like a bumbling buffoon or a clumsy baby unicorn, he'd slammed into me and kept running. The stranger stiffened, as if I'd insulted him or something. I frown and shout again. "Oi! You!"

"Oh dear," he mutters just loud enough for me to hear. I frown, listening to his words. "It is so funny how things can just go from perfectly normal one second to totally bonkers the next. That's life, I guess. A bonky, throwy, funnish theme park ride."

I cock my head, bustling up to him with my plastic grocery bags. He moves his head away, so I won't be able to see his face. "Who are you?" I demand, glaring feistily at the stranger. "Do ya have a problem with me?"

"Oh no," intones the man. He has a light, bouncy quality to his voice that is remotely familiar and yet so, so alien. "You're perfectly fine, in your perfectly normal life, eating your perfectly normal chips. But me? I am in so much trouble right now, I can't even."

"Can't even what?" I growl, twisting around on the busy sidewalk to look at the queer man's face. Instantly, I pause. There's something vaguely _right_ about his odd eyes, the way they seem so uplifted at first glance, so happy and ordinary. But then you take a second glance. And then that changes. There's pain, ancient pain, in those old, old eyes. It sends an involuntary shiver through me.

"I can't even," he says clearly. Out of the blue, I notice his eyebrows are nonexistent. He has a firm chin and greasy brown hair that tosses in front of one of his eyes. Strangely, he's wearing a sable brown suit sort of thing, with an obnoxious bowtie. Almost disorientingly, his odd eyes skate around, always looking, always seeing, never once pausing.

"Well, you'd better!" I snap, so not wanting to deal with this. I must admit, there's a certain time of the month that girls are a tad bit crabbier than usual, and I'm right smack dab in the middle of that.

"Oh, dear," he mutters, and then swirls around in a whoosh of coat, showing suspenders. "CLARA! CLARA! WE NEED TO LEAVE!" Almost to himself, the odd man whispers, "Why do I even bother telling them not to run off, they always run off… Like the little chickens with the speckled feathers… I like those chickens, though…"

"Go where?" I question, stamping my foot. "And who the bloody hell is Clara?"

A girl with reddish brown hair I would kill for splits through the crowd, her dark eyes glittering with mirth. "Do—" The man leaps forward and claps a hand over her mouth. I'm about to pull out my phone and call the police, but she seems calm enough, just slightly pissed. The man whispers something in her ear, eyes constantly flickering to me. I glare at the two of them frostily.

"What the hell is going on here?" I sigh, exasperated. I give them my best intimidating stare and hope for the best. "Look, I don't know who you are, but my name is Rose Tyler. I am the Bad Wolf. I have traveled through time, and I am not helpless anymore. If you are a threat to this planet, I will have you shot down before you can get more than twenty thousand miles away."

"Oh, _Rose_," disapproves the man. He stomps forward and raps his fingers against my forehead. I recoil, blinking in furious surprise. "I thought you were better than this!" He waves his hands around, and shakes his head. "If you must know, my name is the Doorman. I am a Time Lord from planet Gallifrey. My people are dead, so on and so forth. I am completely and utterly alone. I impose no threat, so on. I come in peace, Rose Tyler!" He claps his hands in giddy excitement. "I've always wanted to say that…"

Oh, my god.

* * *

"Who is she?" hisses Clara, moving around the glowing TARDIS console. As she passes, the machine lets out a huge cloud of metallic sparks.

"I have no idea what you're referring to," mutters the Doctor loftily. He taps a screen in annoyance and smashes his fist into a keyboard she hadn't known existed.

"The girl." Clara rolls her eyes. "You know who. The blonde girl, with the teeth like a beaver."

He swirls up from crouching over his TARDIS, and shakes a scolding finger at Clara. "Once upon a time, I adored those teeth." Then he whirls back to the machine and continues pumping levers and pressing buttons.

"You _adored_ those teeth?" Clara inquires, anger sparking inside. "So, what? Did you leave her behind? What happened?"

He freezes, standing up straight, back to me. The mood goes from mildly playful to dead serious in a matter of seconds. The Doctor's voice is low and painful. "Rose… Rose gave herself up to save the earth during the Ghost Invasion, trapping herself in an alternate dimension for all of time and space. I used to love her, yes. My god, I used to love her. But… I changed. I tried to move on. And this… this is not helping, in the slightest. The TARDIS probably came back for her. That's what all the… wibbly wobbly… jerky twerky stuff was."

Clara frowns. "Don't ever say that again."

He pivots, puzzlement shining in his eyes, face wrinkling. "What? Wibbly wobbly?"

Clara laughs. "No, the other one."

"Jerky twerky?"

She grimaces. "You keep using that word." She shakes her head slowly. "That word does not mean what you think it means."

He looks at her, rubbing the tips of his fingers together. "Well, what does it mean? It describes the situation perfectly. You've never had a problem with 'timey wimey' or 'spacey wacey', why on earth would jerky twerky be any different?"

"It's… just very different, alright?" Clara sighs, exasperated. She leans against the railing, and the TARDIS groans in protest. "So, what's you big plan for getting us out of here, genius?"

"Well, for starters, I'm going to pop down to the shop down the street and have a cake pop." He grabs his jacket off of the seat, twirling around in a flurry and stalking out the door, talking all the while. "I've never had a cake pop before. I wonder, do they taste like cake or pops? And, let's face it, I've never had a parallel delicacy before! Whoo hoo, this is going to be so fun!"

"But, Doctor," Clara insists, "why did the TARDIS even bring us here? I mean, shouldn't… she… want to avoid big paradox thingies? Like Rose?"

He freezes, playing with his fingers like he does when he's either sad or nervous. "Well… I imagine she was lonely."

"Lonely?" Clara bursts indignantly. "What, we're not good enough for Miss Prissy?"

The TARDIS makes an unpleasant squelching noise, and the entire room shakes. Clara throws out an arm to keep herself from falling, and the Doctor goes spinning around the controls like the madman he is until the TARDIS calms.

"There ya go, old girl," he soothes, stroking the huge downy-uppy thing, as he calls it. "See, no problem! Don't let Clara get you down…" The TARDIS whines. "Oh, alright! I'll bring Rose back! But remember: I'm the Doorman, not the Doctor."

"That is the worst nickname ever," Clara gasps.

The Doctor winks at her. "Yours truly."

* * *

"So, Rose Tyler," begins the Doorman, his ancient eyes filled with a sort of sadness that makes my heart ache. "The Doctor used to talk about you. A lot."

I regard his sharply. "You know the Doctor?"

"Oh, oh yes!" he enthuses. "Best friends growing up. We used to… play video games and hopscotch and… braid each other's hair…"

The Clara girl elbows him, causing the Doorman to suck in his cheeks. I raise an eyebrow, looking from one to the other incredulously. "So you're another Time Lord, yeah?"

"Yeah," he agrees.

"Yes!" Clara nods briskly.

My eyebrow shoots up higher. "My god, Doctor, if you're trying to avoid me, just say so."

Clara gawks at me, but the man who was once the love of my life seems delighted. "Oh, Rose, you clever, clever girl! I'm not trying to avoid you! I'm trying to avoid your… kissy-face husband version of me…"

"What?" blurts Clara.

"Long, long story." The Doctor makes a dismissive gesture with his hands. "It involves timey-wimey, you wouldn't understand." He looks at me curiously. "Knowing me, I wouldn't let you out of my sight after what happened with the army of ghosts." Understandably, the redhead looks even more confused. "So, where is Prince Charming?" The Doctor ducks beneath the table as a sultry waitress arrives, calling out for the kissy-faced Prince Charming while I drown in misery.

Nobody had expected it. Just out of the blue. But the Vashta Nerada are on every planet in every solar system in every parallel world. And they can be anywhere. One second he'd been there, a bouncy, happy, skinny man with wide brown eyes and spiky hair, and the next, he'd collapsed as a pile of white bones.

I'd grieved for months. I barely even got out of bed for an entire year. Now, just when I'm starting to get over my Doctor's death, this new clumsy man staggers around waving his _green_ sonic screwdriver in the air and asking for cake pops. It feels like a massive slap in the face.

I look away. "My Doctor is dead." He freezes at the hardness in my voice, and apparently decides not to pry. Clara is curious, brown eyes shining with interest, but she's polite enough not to ask any questions.

"Oh, Rose," sighs the Doctor. "Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose."

"Excuse me," squawks the teenage waitress impatiently. "What can I get for you today?"

"Cake pops!" enthuses the Doctor, throwing his hands in the air like he's on a roller coaster. "Chocolate cake pops, and strawberry cake pops, and vanilla cake pops, and Oreo cake pops, and mango cake pops, and – my god, is that man wearing a bowtie?" The Doctor shoots to his feet and ambles off.

"We'll have three of every flavor cake pop you have," amends Clara, shutting her order and handing both hers and the Doctor's to the waitress, Fiona, apparently. I fold the menu and shove it in the general direction of the waitress.

"So, you're the Doctor's new companion, yeah?" I lean forward, not wanting to pry, but… I'm being curious.

"Yeah." She regards me. "And you were one of his old ones?"

I nod. I don't want to get off on the wrong foot like I have with some of the Doctor's other companions. Remembering my conversation with Sarah Jane Smith, I ask, "Does he still talk to the TARDIS when he thinks no one's listening?"

Clara throws her head back laughing. "Oh, all the time! With you, would he run off in some direction and begin sonicing things for no apparent reason? And then when you caught up with him, he would run off again?"

"Oh, does he still do that?" I stifle a cackle. "What you have to do, Clara, is one day don't follow him. Go get lost somewhere, and wait for him to find you. My god, he was so worried!"

The waitress returns with two trays filled with cake pops, annoyance flashing in her eyes. She sets them down in front of us, abruptly ending our moment of friendship. Brushing hair the color of chocolate from her face, she questions in a sugary tone, "Is that all?"

"Yes," Clara answers. "We're fine."

I pluck one of the white sticks, admiring the color of the cake pop before I munch on it. Excellent. Peppermint. I nod in approval, and then, of course, the store across the street explodes in a fireball of orangey heat.

The Doctor appears at our table as I snatch up my bags, swirling around, eyes blazing with fires identical to those blooming behind him. "Oooohooooo, we are in _so_ much trouble!" The Doctor's voice is unnecessarily delighted, and he rubs his hands together. I bolt to my feet. He throws his hands up and exclaims, "Let's go to the TARDIS! Whoooohooo!"

* * *

**Have fun with that!**

**Okay, something I like to do with my stories is write a poll at the end. I'd like it if you guys could answer me, because they all help my writing. **

**POLL: Do you like the way I'm painting the picture of Clara and Rose's relationship?**

**Ciao, **

**~wolfluvermh**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the long wait, I'll get this chapter out as soon as possible.**

* * *

The beast's slavering jaws open to reveal those teeth. Those awful, awful teeth. Each as long as a kitchen knife, white as winter's first snow, they gleam like needles as the creature opens and closes its mouth. A black tongue swipes the air, like its tasting its surroundings. With a noise like the clicking of tendons, it turns to me, and I fight the urge to scream.

The creature had burst out of the shop after the doctor, and if I was asked to describe it in a word, I would've said hell. This thing was hell on legs.

Its sleek body is coated in a thin layer of thin white hair. Banded across its back are neat black stripes, like a tiger. With a ferocity I've only seen from steroids, the beast's muscles bulge with every sliding step. Its broad paws are separated into three toes riddled with flexing tendons, like a dinosaur foot or something. A silver dog collar wraps around its long, slim throat. The taunt skin on its face looks like it'd been stretched over its skull, with barely enough to work with. Like a demon's wings, its shoulder blades stand erect, high above the rest of its low-set body. Its doglike head whips back and forth as those jaws open and close, with two slender triangular ears jutting from the top of its head. Sending a shiver down my spine, those soulless eyes fix on me.

Its eyes are what really scare me. They freeze me in my shoes, despite all the running and screaming of people all around me. They're perfectly round, sticking out like half a marble from the otherwise smooth plane of its wolfish face. The emptiness there makes my gut wrench, and the blackness reminds me of the Slitheen's grotesque pupils. It blinks, and then, clear as day, I hear in my head, _Mistress, save our souls._

And with that, volts of electricity explode from the dog collar. The beast makes a sound like a terrified whine as the sparks of lightning course over its pulsing body, throwing up its head. Then it crashes to the ground lifelessly, black tongue lolling out of its monstrous jaws.

The Doctor bursts forward, cooing in sympathy. I stay frozen, eyes locked on the terrible beast, fearful of it even in death. Clara hisses at him. "Get back here! Don't touch that! It just blew up a building!"

"No, it didn't," scolds the Doctor, whipping out his green sonic screwdriver. He presses a button and runs the light up and down the creature's neck, focusing especially on the collar. It sparks, and he recoils, blinking like a shocked toddler. "How weird." He scratches his head. "I wonder about this thing's story."

"What is it?" I demand, still glued on the spot. "Why did it get shocked?"

He throws his hands up, stumbling on wobbly legs to his feet. "I don't know. New universe, new rules. I don't know what this poor fellow was. I believe its female, but I can't be sure."

"That thing," I stammer. Lamely, I lift a finger to jab at it. "It _spoke_ to me. It was in my head."

"Huh?" wonders Clara aloud. "How can something be in your head? Isn't that, like, telepathy or magic? Like unicorns?"

A boy with silver hair struts from the café, takes one look at the wolf alien lying on the street, pivots, and then walks back in the shop. The Doctor whips something out from his pocket, a very familiar slip of white paper inside a black leather wallet. He holds it up to his face, and, because of the distance, I can only barely make out the fine script of writing.

"Now this," the Doctor whispers almost to himself, "_this_ is odd. In your last moment, you reflect on your life, you tell your loved ones how much you appreciate them, you hug others. You don't waste valuable energy sending a psychic message to a stranger."

He shuffles next to me, hopping gracefully over a piece of debris only to trip over his own feet. Clara steadies him with a roll of her eyes, and I try not to get too ticked about that, instead focusing on the paper. The script is unreadable and swirly, as if someone had taken cursive to the extreme. "Clara," he asks the girl, positioning it so she could see, "can you read that?"

"No," she whispers in disbelief.

"The TARDIS translates information in our heads," I protest. "It's never – actually, I take that back, once it did. But that was with the Devil. With Satan." Clara's mouth opens up, but she shuts it closed with a face like, _I don't want to know_. "How can it not be working?"

"Excellent question, Rose," he approves, stuffing the psychic paper in his pocket. "How can it not be working? And why would a creature send you a message? By the way, what did the alien tell you?"

I frown, remembering the feminine voice echoing in my brain. "She said, 'Mistress, save our souls.' She called me her mistress. Why am I her mistress?"

The Doctor pauses. His hands that'd been constantly moving and touching and pointing and twiddling stop, and his hazy blue eyes darken. "You are the Bad Wolf," he says simply. "Maybe this wolf alien got confused or took a wrong turn. They must've followed their instincts and found the Bad Wolf."

"She's the Bad Wolf?" interrupts Clara. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

"I am the Bad Wolf," I recall, dread creeping up my throat. "I create myself."

"Riiiight," laughs Clara nervously. "So, what now?"

"We find whoever set off that poor creature's collar and pay them a surprise visit," declares the Doctor, a familiar gleam in his eyes that are oh-so-different. "But, before that, I'm going to finish my cake pop. You're welcome to join me."

And with one final pitying glance at the wolf alien, the Doctor strides back into the store like a powerful god, ready to either destroy or save the world… and then he trips over his own feet, completely devastating the moment.

* * *

Run. Run, Bad Wolf. They come. Over the hills. Through the trees. They are among you. You do not see them. But we do. Run, Bad Wolf. We do not have eyes everywhere, and you wander, despite the danger. Caution, child, for not all who smile are your friends. Watch your back, Bad Wolf, for we cannot be there always.

And they… they are coming.

* * *

Clara eyes the blonde girl, trying to be discreet as possible as Rose Tyler walks up and lays a hand on the TARDIS door. Her brown eyes soften as she gently runs her hand along the dark blue paint job, stroking the wood with a sort of care that's practically alien to Clara. The TARDIS lets out a nostalgic whine, and she smiles with those odd front teeth.

"She's different on the outside," she comments, rubbing the wood around the handle. "Still the same girl, though. Why is she different?"

The Doctor twiddles his fingers like he always does when he's nervous. Clara cocks an eyebrow. "She's different?" Clara wonders, and the Doctor cringes.

"Well, yes," he admits. "I sort of crashed her. I think. Sort of. It was a kind of two-way crash."

"A two way crash?" repeats Rose, amusement coloring her voice. "I know that this regeneration of you is clumsy, Doctor, but how are you going to explain that one?"

"Clumsy?" demands the Doctor, twirling around indignantly. "_Clumsy?_ Is a baby's first steps _clumsy_? Is a car rolling over the pavement clumsy? Is a TARDIS's first flight clumsy? No! I'm graceful in an uncoordinated way. Get it right."

"Whatever floats your boat," laughs Clara, giving him a pat on the shoulder. She joins Rose by the TARDIS, and, instantly, the stupid machine quits purring. Instead, the TARDIS makes an unpleasant squelching noise, like rubber boots through mud. Clara scowls at the machine. "Stupid box."

It wails even louder.

Rose frowns. "Be nice to the TARDIS. It's not her fault she's geometric." The TARDIS purrs.

"She could at least attempt to be fair!" counters Clara, eyes flashing with anger. "She treats you like you're God's gift to mankind, while I'm over here hoping I can find my bedroom again! And, for the record, boxes were my least favorite shape in kindergarten!"

"Oh, stop bickering," fusses the Doctor, bursting between the girls in a swish of his coat. He snaps his fingers and the TARDIS door flies open, almost smacking Rose in the face. She flinches, but, seconds before it hits her face, it pauses like magic. Stupid prejudiced TARDIS.

"Rose," he calls back after retreating to the inside of the TARDIS, "do you still have the DNA sample I gave to you? I need it!"

"Coming, Doctor!" she yells. Rose pauses before going inside, her brown eyes meeting Clara's. There's curiosity shining there, but sadness, as well. Rose gestures through the doors with a mournful sort of gesture. "It's – it's different in there, too? It's not my TARDIS anymore?"

Clara pities the girl slightly. She'd obviously been dropped off by the Doctor at some point, and loved him, too, and yet she faces Clara with a smile. That's real courage. "Well, I don't know. What does your TARDIS look like?"

Rose's eyes light up like a Christmas tree. Well, the floor is made up of sort of metal grates over a bunch of electrical wires and things that are always sparking and breaking. He always would insist that there was nothing wrong, but, no matter the time period, machines don't make noises like that. In the middle, there's a console with all sorts of buttons and switches, like someone had just taken apart a toddler's playtoy and stuck it onto a marvel in technology. On the far side, there's a pair of doors that lead to the closet and the swimming pool in the library. The Doctor took me swimming there once. I never saw anything as hilarious as him in swimshorts. Or anything sexier. But, anyway, back to the TARDIS. There's a large plastic cylinder tube in the center that glows with green light, filled with all sorts of other tubes that go up and down when the TARDIS works. She glows with golden light. There are arches all over the extra space with an alien sort of feel to them; the gold paint over the rough surface has majesty, too. And then, all over the ceiling, there's little potholes in the top – like the bubbles on a dalek. Does… does it still look like that?"

Clara's pity grows. No wonder the TARDIS loves this girl, the girl who memorize her so completely and utterly. "No," she apologizes shamefully. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't."

Rose nods fragilely, like she's trying to be brave and failing miserably. She swallows, and pats the TARDIS wistfully. "Well," she sighs, mostly to the box, "you've always shown me the surprising, old girl. What've you got for me this time?"

The TARDIS whirrs encouragingly, and Rose enters its doors once more.

* * *

"Oh my god," I whisper. The TARDIS has the same basic layout, with the console and the doors and such, but everything is different. Instead of gold, the TARDIS glows a futuristic blue. The uppy-downy thing is filled with LED lights, and the darkness hides things that'd been visible before. The Doctor twirls around the controls like a madman with a box, jamming on things, rattling others, and smashing his fist into others still.

The TARDIS purrs with pleasure at the sight of me. Stepping forward onto the metal grating, the TARDIS door swings shut behind me, slamming the door on poor Clara's face. From inside, the girl's furious voice still can be heard. I cuff the handrail and scold, "Don't do that! That's not nice, missy!"

With an agitated grumble, the doors fly open, smacking Clara in the face in the process. Hand flying to her nose, Clara stumbles back. Then with a growl, she pounds on the doorway as she shoves past me, muttering something about stupid machines. Shrugging, I follow her to the Doctor, the baggy of DNA samples from the creature still in one hand.

The Doctor snatches the bag from my hand, shaking out a few of the hairs onto a little petri disk like they use in science classes. I watch, interested, as he clutches a few lenses together and peers at the hairs. With a pair of tweezers, he rifles through the particles, searching for one thing in particular. With triumph, the Doctor holds up a single black hair from the mass of white, and scurries over to another machine thingy.

I watch him in muted fascination. My mind wanders as he scurries about like a kitten, chittering and chattering like a monkey, and tripping like a baby unicorn. So different from my Doctor. My Doctor would explain things at rocket-fast speeds, of course, but he would always take the time to bring them down to relative terms for me. Those big, dark eyes would stare at me imploringly, and we'd have conversations that didn't seem private and that didn't sound private, but somehow, they were. That Doctor is gone now. Now there's this bumbling idiot. And he's got Clara. Which… which is okay.

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it'll end up being true.

* * *

The box. The box. The box can't protect you, mistress. Run. Run. We gave you time. Now it's time for you to run.

* * *

**This is going down. **

**POLL: what do you think is going on with the wolflike aliens? What are they doing here?**

**Ciao,**

**~wolfluvermh**


End file.
